


Tower Green

by GameMaster



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst, Apologies, Betaed, Descent into Madness, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Prince GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Royalty, dnf fic week!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:07:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29956590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GameMaster/pseuds/GameMaster
Summary: After the death of his friend, Dream fights a losing battle with madness that costs him his life, leaving his lover, George, to pick up the pieces of his shattered heart.---“So what?” George croaked. “You could’ve stopped. I stopped. You could’ve moved on but you had to go mad and kill that young general! You had to beat him to death in front of his own soldiers, knowing full well what the price for that would be.”“My life.” Dream chuckled darkly, turning his back to George. “It seems like you care about it an awful lot more than I do.”“Of course I do!” George cried, hot tear blurring his vision. He didn’t care about composure anymore. “I loved you! This isn’t you anymore but you’re so much like him-”“What if I am him, Georgie?” Dream growled. “What if I never went mad and that’s just what you tell yourself to hide the fact that this is me. This is what I’ve become. This is what you turned me into!”
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 32





	Tower Green

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thepaperbones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepaperbones/gifts), [smologan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smologan/gifts).



> I'm sorry for not posting for a while, mental health is affecting my motivation. I know it's a little short but I hope you enjoy the angst!
> 
> In Alienu fashion, songs I looped while working on this fic:
> 
> Requiem in D Minor, K626:3 by Mozart  
> Marionettes by Kanaya  
> I Found by Amber Run

Had death not been so impending, Dream might have complained about the leak in the ceiling of his cell.

“Oh, Wilbur…” he sang joyfully, smile only growing when the brunet guard turned to sneer at him. “Get someone to patch up that ceiling. The sound is infuriating.” Wilbur sighed wearily, hand on his sheath.

“For at least the tenth time, don’t you have bigger things to worry about?” The question was genuine enough but Dream could tell that the  _ drip drip drip  _ was irritating him too.

Wilbur was poised outside of Dream’s cell at the center of the tower. Why they needed a guard to watch Dream do absolutely nothing leading up to his execution, Wilbur would never know.

Still, he couldn’t help but feel bad for the man, torn up at the seams until madness had managed to worm through. Wilbur observed Dream, crouching in the corner of his cell, and he could recall days when the very same boy had been the Prince’s kind lover. Arrogant and pompous, sure, but kind.

But misery finds no better home than in happiness.

“I have no regrets, William,” Dream replied, eyes lolling wildly as he tipped back his head. “I’m willing to do my penance for my so-called  _ crime _ . Is it so much to ask that in my last hours I might not be in a cage dripping sewage?”

Wilbur didn’t deign to answer, afraid of exactly what he might say. After all, Tommy had been a promising soldier, as well as his own younger brother. He had wanted nothing more than for the boy to outlive him, training him personally until he ranked as a junior general among the King’s men.

Alas, the flame had barely burned before Dream snuffed it out himself, aided by skills that couldn’t be taught.

Wilbur loathed him for it, yet Dream’s impending execution lightened the burden a little. At least he would be avenged, blood for blood.

“Georgie…” Dream sang lowly, Wilbur only catching the sound of incoming footsteps several moments later. It was a familiar sound, the rhythmic sound of steps on the stone floor of the tower, the sound of the Prince flanked by his personal guard. Hardly comforting, but familiar.

Wilbur stepped away from where he stood at attention, moving to meet the prince in the hallway. The guards eyed him before stepping away, a younger one accidentally slipping out of formation. Will recgonized him - Tubbo, a close friend of Tommy’s. That flickering light in his eyes reminded him so much of his fallen brother, he had to force his gaze away.

There were more important matters. Namely, just how terrible the prince looked standing in front of him.

Honey-colored eyes had greyed, sinking into their sockets as if to hide from what they might see. His already light pallor was ghostly pale, chestnut hair dulled, as if every part of him was dying along with the prisoner. With the bond they had shared, Will figured the prince might as well be dying.

“Good morning, George,” Will said softly trying to weave something, anything, comforting into his tone. George’s gaze only hardened, obviously struggling not to sprint for the cell.

“Morning,” he replied sullenly. It may have been morning, but it couldn’t be called a good one. The sky seemed to agree, even grayer and muddier in color than usual. At least it was fitting.

Dream’s hums floated over to them hauntingly and George almost found himself bolting from the tower there and then. He was losing too many friends in too short a time, although, he suppose he may have already lost Dream.

An invisible rope knotted chokingly tight in his throat, George fought his instincts and kept his composure. He remember lessons with a governess from when he was little, when she told him,  _ keep your back straight George. A king with his head up is always a good king _ .

George had never stopped being grateful for his position in life, but as he came to the bars of the cell, he couldn’t help but wish that he was anyone else in that moment. Something,  _ anything _ , had to be better that this, watching Dream, his soulmate, curled up in a corner spouting gibberish. It wasn’t the same Dream he had known, that was obvious at least, but the way Dream’s voice turned breathy when he sang, evergreen eyes laden with hope. That was all still the same, too similar for George to distance himself from it.

“I’ve been waiting, George,” Dream hummed, eyes fluttering shut. “You had to be the one to see me off didn’t you? Had to enjoy the promise of my death.”

Only shock kept George where he stood, and momentarily, comfort blanketed him knowing that Dream,  _ his _ Dream, would know that he would never want to see him suffer.

Seeing the lack of reaction, Dream’s face dropped, eyes flickering open as genuine fear filled his features and he stood to face George.

“George?” he said softly, sanely. “Is that you? Please, George. Get me out of here, it’s so cold and I’m so scared…” As he begged he began to tremble, hands settling to tightly grip his cell bars. “Please, I didn’t mean to hurt him. It wasn’t me… I-I couldn’t stop it.”

Tear threatened to pierce George’s shields as he stared deep into the eyes, seemingly of the boy he had loved so dearly.

“Dream-” George only managed to start his sentence before Dream slammed his hads against the bars and began to laugh manaically.

“You really thought!” he shrieked, hugging his stomach with laughter. “You thought he might still be here, didn’t you?” Dream stood up straight again and got as close to George as possible, staring him down with wild eyes. “Still the same naive son of a whore you were when Sapnap  _ died _ .”

“That wasn’t my fault!” George barked, guards backing up at the sudden outburst. “It wasn’t yours either! I know you think that. I know that’s what made you into…” he gestured wildly “... _ this! _ ”

“Oh, but it was your fault, wasn’t it?” Dream grinned, green irises glazed with malice. “If you hadn’t sent him with that group of troupes he wouldn’t have been ambushed! And if I had been there sooner he would still be alive. Face it Georgie, it’s  _ our  _ fault.”

“So what?” George croaked. “You could’ve stopped.  _ I  _ stopped. You could’ve moved on but you had to go mad and kill that young general! You  _ had  _ to beat him to death in front of his own soldiers, knowing  _ full well _ what the price for that would be.”

“My life.” Dream chuckled darkly, turning his back to George. “It seems like you care about it an awful lot more than I do.”

“Of course I do!” George cried, hot tear blurring his vision. He didn’t care about composure anymore. “I  _ loved _ you! This isn’t you anymore but you’re so much like him-”

“What if I am him, Georgie?” Dream growled. “What if I never went mad and that’s just what you tell yourself to hide the fact that  _ this _ is  _ me _ . This is what I’ve become. This is what  _ you  _ turned me into!”

“Enough,” George ordered. Dream watched him, a satisfied smile across his face as if causing George pain was his goal all along. It might as well have been.

Wilbur had gone pale at the mention of Tommy, at the mention of how he died. He still couldn’t get the scene out of his head, his brother’s battered body splayed on the training grounds for everyone to see.

“You are not my Dream,” George muttered, although it sounded like he was trying to convince himself. “In an hour you will be dead and Dream will be freed.”

Smirk fading, Dream leaned in close to George, one cheek pressed against the cold metal of the bars.

“You cannot kill me in any way that matters.”

Even Wilbur shuddered. The words were too composed, too  _ sane _ . It was cold and cruel and  _ utterly _ terrifying.

Without another word nor another tear shed, George turned on his heel and strobe down the hall that led away from the chamber. Dream called after him in mocking pleas, begging for forgiveness.

The second the prince was out of earshot, Dream gave up the begging and returned to his spot in the corner, smiling to himself. Will had half a mind to beat that smile off his face, but that wasn’t his job. 

Wilbur didn’t want an eye for an eye, he wanted a head for a head, and that was exactly what he would get if he would only wait a little longer.

. . .

Previously, George had been adamant that he wanted to be in the crowd for the execution, insisting that he could handle it for the good-will of his people.

He didn’t bother to keep to that, instead retreating to the high floor of a tower that overlooked the execution grounds. He was alone there.

As Dream was brought to the stand, George began to chew at his nails. Even from this distance, even clothed in prisoner’s rags, George still recognized Dream as the man he had once loved, and it filled him with burning hot shame.

Stood in front of the crowd of onlookers, Dream seemingly had no trouble keeping his composure in the face of death. George thought he was ready - it was only when Dream began to give his final words did he question that.

He couldn’t hear him, but he clearly spoke with such intensity that the crowd was entirely ensnared by his words. Dream went on for a while, poise never being interrupted. Even in the depths of his misery, George couldn’t help but imagine what a great king he would have made had they married.

It was when Dream stopped speaking that George suddenly found tears trailing down his face and neck. Hot and thick, loss pooled in him already. After losing Sapnap, George thought he had felt the very furthest depths of grief, but watching the blond-haired boy with the emerald eyes resign to his fate struck a kind of pain in his chest he would never forget.

He couldn’t break his eyes from the sigh as Dream kneeled before the executioner, placing his head on the block, still smiling with ease. George had once admired that ease Dream worse upon his face in every situations, as if nothing could jolt the gentle smile off him.

The sound of the axe falling made George’s heart fracture, fissures spreading through under the pressure of agony. He’d never let himself forget it, nor the choked sob he let out after.

. . .

George had never seen Wilbur look as solemn as he did when he handed George the transcription of Dream’s final words, the speech he had given on the stand.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, as it could be Dream’s final blow on him, the strike that would leave him lifeless. George wasn’t sure he would ever be able to put himself back together.

Curiosity was a cruel mistress. Curled up in an armchair in the library, George picked at the wax seal before unraveling the note to find his mercy.

_ George, I know you aren’t in the crowd today, I made sure of that when you visited me earlier. When you hear these last words I will have already passed on but I hope this comes to you as a kind of message beyond the grave. _

_ We deserved a happy ending, I know. You and I deserved the stories we would read late at night when I sneaked into your room, faerietales that tied up all loose end with a pretty bow. As much as I can scream that that’s how it should’ve been, that’s not how it will be. Fate had a different plan for me, and therefore for you. _

_ After I killed that general, you fancied me a madman, so much so that even I was convinced of it. You always were able to convince me of the most foolish things, my love. I had to do it, I had to die to do penance for Sapnap’s death, and then for Tommy’s. I know it seems selfish to leave you alone to drown in your tears, but you always rather liked being alone. _

_ Patience, George. This is not the end for us. We are bound in this life and we will be in the next. Lady Fate will have to give in and let us be together. _

_ I’m sorry, but I will wait for you there, ever-so-patiently in that next life, where love will be all-the-sweeter. I was never the best at waiting, you were the tempered one, but anything for you. _

_ Live a remarkable life, George, just like you would if I was there with you. _


End file.
